


SnowBaz Prompts/Ficlets- Explicit Version

by Caitybug



Category: Carry On Series - Rainbow Rowell, Simon Snow & Related Fandoms
Genre: (no actual though- sorry), Asking Out, Blindfolds, Blow Jobs, Fuckbuddies To Lovers, Hand Jobs, Kissing, Light Bondage, M/M, Pining, Yearning, but is it?, just a shag, make them explicit though, mentions of biting, prompts
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:34:31
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29101095
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Caitybug/pseuds/Caitybug
Summary: A series of prompts that I fill that are mature or explicit. Feel free to check out my page for a lot of T-rated ones!
Relationships: Tyrannus Basilton "Baz" Pitch/Simon Snow
Comments: 12
Kudos: 81





	SnowBaz Prompts/Ficlets- Explicit Version

**Author's Note:**

> For [Liz](http://tumblr.com/foolofabookwyrm) who wanted the prompt: 4- “You’re going to have to answer me verbally dear, contrary to popular belief, I can’t read minds.”

4- “You’re going to have to answer me verbally dear, contrary to popular belief, I can’t read minds.”

I’m standing against the wall in my room, completely starkers, with quite actually one of the most beautiful sights I could imagine. 

Simon Snow, on his knees, his hands tied behind his back. Right in the middle of my bed. 

I’ve used my tie for his hands, a scarf for his mouth, and a sleeping mask as a blindfold. 

I only planned to tie his hands together and to cover his eyes. But, alas, Simon couldn’t figure out how to shut up.

So now he’s bound and waiting for me. 

And I _do_ enjoy making him wait.

(It’s what I do best.)

Simon, however, is impatient in the best of times—and now that I’ve got him turned up all the way with want, and left him to his own devices with no clue as to when I’ll return—it’s even worse. 

He begins to stretch against the knot around his wrists, clearly uncomfortable. (I did tie them fairly tight.) But it allows me to watch the way his back flexes and shifts as he moves. It’s a show of shoulder blades, spine, and all the muscles I know he’s developed from years of punching his way through battles. (And sword fighting, of course.) (I don’t think I’ll ever manage to get the image of Simon Snow with a sword out of my head. Bead of sweat trailing across his temple, chin jutted out as he gears for a fight. The whole thing’s fucking _erotic_.)

I take a step closer, deciding I’ve spent long enough standing against the wall, letting myself watch him. I allow myself to revel in everything that is Simon. His bronze curls, tousled perfectly from my fingers as we made our way from the doorway to my bedroom. His neck, in complete view as I move around the bed, completely on show- his Adam’s apple bobbing as he makes a showy swallow. He has his head tilted back— and he’d be glaring at me at this point (maybe he already is) if he didn’t currently have the mask on. 

I couldn’t find my regular one, so instead I’ve used a red one Fiona gave me as a joke. It has black stitches and across the eyelids reads: _bite me_. 

Which isn’t all that bad, now that I’ve thought about it. Biting him, that is.

Not that I would- not that I’d _ever_. (But I do know _where_ I’d do it- given the chance.)

Right against his Adam’s apple. In the middle of his throat.

I take a deep breath, stepping closer to the bed. His breathing gets heavier as he senses me coming closer. 

I can’t tell if this is what he expected when he texted me earlier, but he doesn’t seem to be complaining. (Much, that is.)

(There’s a reason I’ve a scarf around his mouth.)

I let myself look at him more. The freckles across his shoulders, his abdomen (soft—lovely), his thighs thick and covered in the same freckles as the rest of him. (They’re also warm and strong—and absolutely divine when wrapped around me.)

I don’t typically let myself take this long looking him over— it’s not like we’re _together_.

It’s _just_ a shag.

(I have to remind myself of that sometimes. That despite how… _comfortable_ we’ve become- this isn’t a _thing_. We aren’t _dating_.)

Not that I wouldn’t _want_ to. But it’s not in his interest. _I’m_ not in his interest.

I try to tell myself that’s fine. That I’ll take him in whatever form I can, for as long as I’m able to. 

But sometimes the feeling in my chest takes over, and the ache becomes too much.

And I start to wonder when I should cut this off, lose all ties with him, in order to protect myself from the heartbreak I’ll experience when he doesn’t come back. When he finds the perfect girl for him, and doesn’t want anything to do with me. 

Simon makes a muffled whine that sounds an awful lot like my name, forcing me to snap back to reality. 

“I was wondering how long it would take you,” I murmur, moving to rest on the bed. I let my body mirror his, our knees resting merely centimeters apart.

One movement—one buck of my hips—could give him the relief he wants.

(What _I_ want.)

I lean forward, letting my lips touch his throat. He hums, and I feel tension relieve itself from his body. He lets his arse drift down so it rests on his feet, and I move my hands to rest on both of his thighs, massaging the muscles as I move them closer to his hip. 

(I’m not sure how much longer I can take it.)

I kiss across his collar bone, his chest, his stomach. Tasting his skin and letting myself enjoy every freckle, mole, and imperfection of his skin. Of all the bits that make him undeniably _Simon_. 

Tonight’s a tad unusual- as Simon is missing some of his more _scaly_ parts. Usually Simon’s tail would be wrapping around my calf or a hand. But, unfortunately, they’ve been spelled away.

It’s disappointing, but I can make do.

My mouth continues its journey until I’m tasting him, taking him slowly and letting him rest heavy on my tongue.

I look up to see red cheeks, chest heaving as I draw pleasure from him. Sharp breaths as I take him deeper- groans coming deep from within his belly as I let him hit the back of my throat. 

But it’s only moments before I realize that something’s missing.

“Would you like to watch?” I ask, letting my tongue glide slowly over his crown. He groans and nods his head quickly, pulling at his restraints again.

At this rate he’ll make his wrists sore. I’ll be massaging them for _at least_ half an hour at this point. 

(I’ve got lotion prepared for this exact situation.)

I don’t have time to wonder if _a simple shag_ would perform aftercare, because I’m lifting the mask off of Simon and staring into a sea of blue.

And I _know_ I shouldn’t be so desperate for him. I shouldn’t look too much into how absolutely taken with me he looks. How the corners of his eyes wrinkle as he smiles when he’s able to finally see me. 

(It’s just the arousal speaking.) (I can’t let myself start thinking he has _feelings_ for me.)

This would be over if I started to let myself think that. If I started to let myself think that Snow was coming over for more than just a good fuck.

If the way he smiles when I open the door is more than what it _actually_ is.

He mumbles something against the scarf I have wrapped around his mouth. 

I raise an eyebrow, wondering what on _earth_ could be so important right now. His eyes start to roll in frustration, but they stop their journey halfway through, instead rolling up— his eyelids fluttering as I wrap my fingers around him, reminding him of what could be happening instead.

“Do you _still_ feel like whatever you had to say was important?” I ask, letting my thumb slide over his crown. He groans deep and low, sending shivers through my body.

_Fuck_ , his sounds shouldn’t be this delicious. 

I kiss his neck and lean back, watching his face as I continue to move. I can’t see _exactly_ but I’m fairly sure he’s biting the inside of my scarf. 

I pause. “Did you still have something you wanted to say?”

It takes him a moment (or two or three) (which I’m prouder of than I’d like to admit) before he groans again. This time out of frustration. 

“Well, I suppose you’re going to have to answer me verbally dear. Contrary to popular belief, I can’t read minds.”

He squints at me, trying to read my face as I reach around and untie the scarf. When I remove it I toss it to the side, letting it land on top of the sleeping mask. 

Simon moves his jaw from side to side, letting it stretch and relax. 

(Maybe I _did_ tie it too tight.)

“Thanks,” he mumbles. 

“So what was so important that you stopped me from—”

“Can we go out sometime?”

I freeze. “What?”

“Can we go out on a… well…” He rolls his shoulders and sits up straighter. “a date.”

I blink.

_A date._

Simon Snow, hands tied behind his back, a cock so hard he’s nearly about to burst, stopped us in the middle of sex to ask me on a fucking date?

“You want to go on a date?” I ask.

I don’t mean for it to sound as ridiculous as it comes out. Of _course_ I want to go on a date.

But—the timing is odd. 

“Er—”he mutters, shifting on his knees and looking down at the sheet. “Yeah.”

A breath.

“But we don’t have to if you don’t want to-”he says, faster than I can comprehend in a moment’s notice. “Sorry if I, er, ruined the moment here.”

My brain is still trying to process as he begins to backpedal.

_A date._

I could take him to a restaurant across town. I’ve past it several times and pictured us there—in suits, of course. I could help Simon tame his curls for the evening. He’d probably finish my meal for me.

(I didn’t think I had this all planned out, but it seems I have.)

I place my hand under his chin and lift it so his eyes meet mine. “I’d love to go on a date with you.”

His eyes look bright and he smiles so large that I can’t help but smile too. 

“Perfect,” he breathes. He leans in to kiss me, and it feels different than what we did before.

Less urgent and needy, and instead soft and slow.

I reach around and untie his wrists, needing to feel his hands on me- to feel the harshness of his fingers against my skin to counterbalance the soft and languid feel of this moment.

He rubs his wrists and looks up at me with hungry eyes.

This whole evening, Simon has been my prey. But, as he pushes me backwards, holding himself above me, it’s clear that was never the case.

As in control as I felt, as bound and submissive as Simon was—I’d never be anything but the prey to his predator.

“Tomorrow?” He whispers against my neck, kissing down to my collar bone.

I nod. “But I must tell you, Snow.”

He lifts himself back up, looking at me questioningly.

“I don’t put out on the first date.” I let the smirk grow on my face, trying not to let it pass into smile territory.

Snow smiles, however, without abandon. He chuckles and kisses me, letting his tongue trail against my teeth.

“Guess I better make tonight good then,” he murmurs.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks so much for reading! Feel free to check me out on [Tumblr!](http://tumblr.com/blog/caitybuglove23)


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